In the Circle of Magi
by Riverdancekat09
Summary: My retelling of the Mage Origin. First time posting, please read and review! Oh yeah, and Bioware owns everything. Possibly including my soul.
1. The Harrowing

**The Harrowing**

Guenhibhar took a deep breath as she pushed open the heavy doors leading into the Harrowing chamber. The time had come to prove herself: to her fellow apprentices, to her mentors, and to the people she had left behind when her talent for magic had been discovered.

The air in the Harrowing Chamber hummed and vibrated; inhaling brought with it a coppery tang, though she had no injury. First Enchanter Irving stood in the center of the chamber; Ser Greagoir, knight-commander of the Chantry Templars, stood beside him, scowling.

Irving turned at Guen's approach. It may have been her imagination, but she thought she saw a hint of a paternal smile on the First Enchanter's aged face. "Are you ready, child?" he asked. "Once you enter the Fade, there is no turning back."

Guen took a second deep breath, jerked her head in a nod, and answered, "I'm ready." Her fists clenched reflexively, as if to contain the answer her lips had already released.

"Know this, Apprentice," Greagoir interjected curtly, "if you fail, the templars will do their duty. You will die."

Guen recognized the threat in the Knight-Commander's words—if her spirit did not return to her physical form within a time frame Greagoir deemed reasonable, the templars would assume she had been possessed, and would slay her without remorse, rather than allow an abomination to walk free. She noticed Cullen, one of the junior templars, standing to one side, looking as unhappy as she had ever seen him. She had always been friendly with Cullen, and she had to wonder at his purpose in attending her Harrowing. For everyone's sake, she hoped it was for moral support, and that his unhappiness was merely the symptom of seeing a friend walk into danger.

Irving intervened upon seeing her nervousness. "Once in the Fade," he explained gently, "you will be armed with only your will. Be careful; yours will not be the only spirit wandering about."

Guen nodded her understanding, the nervous knot in her stomach making her feel ill. She knew better than to profess her confidence in her abilities, for pride made an easy target for spirits and demons to take possession of a mage's spirit.

A bowl rested on an ornate stand, set in the center of the room. Within it, something shimmered. Guen dipped her hand into the bowl; she was surprised at the substance's chill.

"This is lyrium," Irving continued. "It will allow you to enter the Fade."

The lyrium spread over Guen's hand, and with it, an increasing sense of being slowly pulled away from herself, from her body. Everything began to take on the same luminescence as the lyrium until it hurt to keep her eyes open. She squeezed them shut against the sting. Sounds ceased to exist. Her body became a cumbersome thing—with a final exhalation, she surrendered to the force pulling her into the Fade.

When she dared open her eyes, everything had taken on strange shades of muted colors. And nothing seemed solid. Guen dusted herself off and looked around for some indication of direction. She had no staff, no charms. Irving had not lied when he'd said her only weapon would be sheer force of will. Already she felt the strangeness of the Fade sapping away at her strength.

"So they threw you to the wolves," sighed a voice tinged with bitterness. "I swear it's always the same."

Startled, Guen looked around wildly for the speaker, but saw none. Finally, she thought to look down. No one was there, save a mouse that was slightly larger than normal.

"They didn't even try to prepare you for anything you met in the Fade, did they?" the mouse said indignantly. "That 'armed with only your will' clap-trap kills more apprentices than the templars do."

Guen stared at the mouse, baffled. Bafflement quickly turned to wide-eyed amazement as the mouse transformed into a human man in a flash of light. "Who are you?" she blurted.

"My name is Mouse," he replied. "Not my real name, obviously. I don't remember that anymore."

"How do you forget your real name?" Guen wondered. He was not a handsome-looking man; rather tired looking, actually, and his dull blue eyes were full of bitterness.

"I was an apprentice, like you," Mouse elaborated. "At least, I think I was. I don't think I have a body to go back to. I…I took too long during my Harrowing, and I think the templars killed me."

Guen felt a twinge of nervousness. How long had she been here? There was no way of marking time in the Fade that she could distinguish. She was growing accustomed to the strangeness, at least. "What am I supposed to be doing here?" she asked. "All anyone ever seemed to tell me was how dangerous the Fade is."

"It _is _dangerous," Mouse replied. "As for your test, you must find a demon, and resist its attempts to possess you."

"Oh is that all," Guen remarked flippantly. "How do I find this demon, then?"

"Usually it finds you," he answered cryptically. "There are other spirits here, as well. One powerful spirit in particular. I can sense it over this way."

Cardinal directions didn't seem to have any meaning in the Fade; Guen had no way of knowing if "this way" meant "west" or "up, down, and sideways." She could do nothing but follow Mouse's guidance for the moment. "How can you tell where spirits are?" she asked curiously.

"If you allow your mind to wander, you'll find it pulls you in one direction or another," Mouse replied. "The stronger the pull, the more powerful the spirit."

Guen released her stranglehold on her self-control, and found herself being pulled just as Mouse had described, as though by many different currents. One current in particular was stronger than the rest; Guen followed it.

Unbelievably, she heard the sounds of a forge, faint at first, then growing louder as she drew near. She spotted Mouse curled into a shadow behind a rock, again as a rodent. Before her stood the strangest smithy she had ever seen. Swords, shields and staves rested on stands, meticulously laid out by size. Everything shimmered, just like the lyrium in the Harrowing Chamber.

A spirit, large and vaguely humanoid, stood at an anvil. As Guen drew closer, it grew more defined. Most of its bulk was composed of armor that covered every part of the spirit save for a craggy, masculine face. "Would you choose one of Valor's weapons?" he boomed. "Then you must duel me."

"Duel you?" Guen echoed incredulously, mentally gauging her own meager physical capabilities against the raw power the spirit, Valor, exuded. "Why not just kill myself and save you the trouble?"

"It would be no trouble," Valor assured her sarcastically.

Indignation swelled within her, almost palpably. "Really," she said icily. "And if I were to simply demand one?"

Valor paused. He had seen and dueled many apprentices. He was unsure if this one realized she was exercising her will upon him as her outrage increased. "I would slay you, for ignoring the rules of engagement," he bluffed.

Guen paused to consider. "How do you make such things?" she stalled. "I've seen no ore or hard wood."

"I bring them into being by my will alone," Valor replied. "What I wish to create, I create."

_If will can do such things, perhaps it is not so trivial a weapon as Mouse made it seem to be, _Guen thought. Forcing herself to stand as tall as her elven frame would permit, she commanded, "Give me a staff. I must do battle with a demon if I am to leave this place a true mage."

Valor nearly staggered at the power behind her words. She was yet untried, true, but it would take a better—or more foolish—spirit than he to test the limits of her influence and endurance. "Your will is too strong," he admitted. "Take this, and welcome," he said solemnly, holding out a staff that was talker than she by roughly the length of her hand.

Guen masked her surprise with ceremony as she gravely accepted Valor's gift. She bowed her head in thanks and walked away without another word.

Valor almost didn't notice the small form darting out from the shadows to follow the promising young apprentice. "A better spirit, or more foolish," he muttered.

"I cannot believe that worked," Guen said shakily as Mouse caught up with her. Only her grip on her new staff kept her hands from shaking.

"Nor can I," Mouse agreed with a laughing gasp of relief as he returned to his human form. "You were magnificent!" He looked at her in admiration. "You're very brave, you know."

Guen shrugged uncomfortably; she was unaccustomed to such praise. "I don't know what would have happened to us had I failed," she confided. "I suppose I would have had to duel him."

"'Us'?" Mouse echoed, a strange catch in his voice.

"Well, yes," Guen answered with a frown. "I need a guide, and in return, I offer my protection. To the best of my ability, anyway. Have none of the other apprentices made this offer to you?"

"None," Mouse answered flatly. "It is…good to feel needed again."

Guen gave him an encouraging smile as they continued down the Fade path.

She had no way of marking how long it had been. The currents that indicated the presence of different spirits ebbed and flowed. Some shades attacked; most did not. Anything hostile was brutally dispatched by Guen's repertoire of spells, small as it was. Bolts of energy shot from the end of the gifted staff, unerringly striking their intended targets. Mouse encouraged her to use some of her more powerful spells, but she politely refused, explaining that she wanted to save them for when she encountered the demon she was meant to face.

She had no way of knowing how long it had been, but Mouse stopped in his tracks abruptly, holding up a hand to silence her. "There's something up ahead, can you feel it?" he whispered urgently. "Not a spirit—it might be a demon, I think."

Fear trilled up Guen's spine like icy fingers. "We got lucky with Valor," she whispered back. "I don't think we can count on the same luck being with us twice."

"Focus!" Mouse urged. "Demons feed off your weakness. Be strong, as you were with Valor."

It occurred briefly to Guen that for a mousey spirit of an apprentice who had hidden during her last encounter with a powerful entity, he knew rather a lot about what she was required to do here. _Probably from watching so many apprentices move through here,_ she reasoned. She straightened her spine and approached the demon. Aside from its grotesque appearance, it really wasn't what she had expected. For one thing, it was napping. And snoring. Loudly. Its appearance was that of a large hound or a bear, save for the hog –like nose. It stirred a little as Guen and Mouse approached, but otherwise showed no sign of waking.

"We can probably walk right past it," Guen murmured.

"No, please," pleaded a sonorous, sleepy voice that could only have come from the snoring demon. "Stay and chat a while. I never meet anyone interesting in this place anymore."

Guen froze as the demon rose from its repose. Mouth dry, she stammered, "What makes you think I'm interesting?"

"Another…spirit follows you," the demon answered, turning its ghastly head toward Mouse with interest. "What purpose do you serve little one?"

"He is my guide in this place," Guen answered quickly as Mouse reverted back to his rodent form. "I am yet unfamiliar with this place, and had need of one. Tell me truly, creature, are you the demon I meant to face?"

"Not Sloth. Not I," the demon answered readily. "I find such things to be far too tiresome. But if you will but humor me for a few moments, I will give your small friend something very useful."

Guen glanced at Mouse, who, she admitted, was not being very useful at the moment. "Speak your terms, then" she said imperiously.

"Do you like riddles?" Sloth inquired.

"Well enough," she answered guardedly.

"Answer my riddles correctly, and I will teach your small friend a new form. Do not, and I attack. Shall we begin?"

"Be careful," Mouse whispered. "He may be lazy, but sloth demons are still tricky."

Guen looked from Mouse to Sloth, and decided. "Ask me your riddles, then, Sloth."

One by one, Guen answered the demon's riddles. True to his word, Sloth taught Mouse the form of a large bear, one he could use to do battle."

"One more question, if I may," Guen ventured boldly. "Where will I find the demon I am meant to face?"

"Burning pits," Sloth yawned in answer, just before slipping back into his stupor.

"We saw those as you came in," Mouse reminded her.

They returned to the area in which she had entered the Fade. The staff from Valor vibrated in her hand. Her demon must be near, then. The heat from the fires scorched her skin under her apprentice robes, and she knew getting too close would spell trouble. She stood in the middle of the natural arena, waiting for some sort of sign or indication she was in the right place at the right time.

She didn't have to wait for very long. The ground beneath her began to rumble, and grow hot. Through the cracks oozed a mass that appeared to be made of pure lava. It slowly articulated into a legless torso with two arms. Guen had the fanciful thought that it looked like a slug—if a slug were made of magma and bent upon being the sole executor of her impending fiery doom. Guen recognized it from her texts as a Rage Demon, but had no way of gauging its strength without engaging it in combat. Which, she supposed, was the entire point of her being here.

This was it—the culmination of her years of training and lessons, sleepless nights studying method. Almost outside of herself, she pointed the tip of the staff toward the approaching demon. "Let's see what we're made of," she murmured, and called upon the pool of energy within herself she reserved for magic. Pure force shot from the end of the staff, pushing the demon back. Again and again, Guen cast the same spell, gaining a little more ground each time. She murmured a different incantation, one that would—in theory—freeze her opponent in place, maybe long enough for Mouse to experiment with his new form.

Her spell worked, and for longer than expected. Mouse almost instinctively changed into his new bear shape and clawed wildly at the frozen Rage Demon. Guen shouted a warning as she saw clouds of steam begin to emerge from cracks in the ice. "Mouse! Get back!"

Mouse obeyed just in time—the demon burst from the icy prison with a hiss and spew of boiling water.

Guen tried to case the same freezing spell again—her small bolts of energy didn't seem to weaken the demon as much as being frozen had. The spell fizzled in her hands, uncast. Panic threatened to overwhelm her; the lascivious, hungry smile on the rage demon's face promised nothing but the worst death imaginable should she falter. Summoning the last reserves of her energy, she tried casting her freezing spell one last time.

Mouse almost didn't wait for her spell to succeed before tearing into the demon with the bear's claws and teeth. Ice and magma chipped away, little by little, as he whittled it down to nothing. Guen kept firing her bolt spell, hoping it would be enough to banish the demon. Finally, it was gone.

Guen leaned heavily upon her staff, all but spent, but elated. She had done it! She'd passed her Harrowing!

"You did it!" Mouse exclaimed, rushing toward her.

He was smiling, Guen noticed, for the first time. "Indeed, I suppose I did," she replied with a smile. "Now what?"

"We return to the Harrowing chamber," Mouse answered easily.

Guen's gaze sharpened. "We?" she echoed. "I thought you said you didn't have a body to go back to." There was a new, hungry gleam in his eye she mistrusted. Something wasn't right.

"Well, I'd need your help with that, obviously," he admitted. "If I could just…tag along."

"I don't think so, Mouse," Guen said carefully, allowing her already tenuous hold on her self-control loosen, to allow herself to be pulled in one direction or another. "I'm grateful for the help you've given, and I've protected you as best as I can. You've even got a new shape, one that will protect you even after I'm gone. But what you're proposing sounds very close to an abomination is."

"According to who? The templars?" Mouse cackled scornfully. "They fear us. They fear our power."

"With reason," Guen argued, truly alarmed now. All the currents of power in the Fade, every force—they all carried her straight to Mouse. "You've been here long enough. You've likely seen what can go wrong here." Strength flowed into her, preparation for battle granting an unexpected reprieve from her fatigue. "The rage demon wasn't the test, was it," she stated, more than asked. "Who are you, Mouse?"

Mouse laughed in a manner that could only be described as evil. His shape began to change. He grew, as tall as an oak and twice as wide. Spines slithered and hardened into wicked-looking spikes; rock-like plates replaced his apprentice robes. Only when his transformation was complete did Guen recognize his—its—form: a pride demon. Despair swelled within her, even as she gripped Valor's staff and prepared for battle. She hoped Greagoir was standing near, ready to end it, should she fail. Her staff betrayed her, however—it faded into nothing. Her clenched fist held nothing but air.

"Nothing is as it seems in this place," the pride demon chortled in a voice like brimstones grinding together. "Remember that."

Guen felt herself falling, losing control. She tried to scream—defiance, a warning, anything—but her throat had closed. So this was what becoming an abomination felt like, she thought. Everything just…going away…fading.


	2. Secrets

**Secrets**

Sheets. The itchy familiarity of goose down. The heavy wool blanket folded into neat thirds at the end of her bed. These things—they were hers, weren't they? And she…her name was Guen. Guenhibhar. Wasn't she supposed to be dead?

Guen tried to sit up and groaned with the effort. Every part of her body felt five times heavier than it should have. She supposed she should be glad to be alive, and not an abomination causing havoc in the Tower. But it only left her with unanswered questions. Problems she desperately needed to solve.

"Thank the Maker, you're awake!"

Guen turned as quickly as her abused body would allow to see her long-time friend and fellow apprentice Jowan sitting on a stool beside her bed. His guileless face was lined with concern, brown hair flopping untidily into eyes the color of mud. "Was it terrible? What happened?"

"Jowan, you know she can't answer that," one of the apprentices interrupted. "Congratulations, Guen! Everyone's been talking about it—you passed your Harrowing with flying colors! Even the First Enchanter was impressed."

"Thank you," Guen stammered, fighting to keep her composure through a wave of nausea.

"That reminds me," Jowan interjected, "the First Enchanter wants to see you. You have to be formally inducted, or something, and he has a guest he would like you to meet. It's all very hush-hush; they wouldn't tell me exactly what he wanted to see you about, since I'm not a full mage yet." A sulky note had crept into his voice. He had been at the Tower for a year longer than Guen, and still had not undergone his Harrowing.

Guen acknowledged him with a nod. Many of the other apprentices in the room wished to offer their congratulations; she bore them all with a stoicism that would have made her Dalish cousins proud. As the last well-wisher trickled out of the room, Guen collapsed backward, squeezing her eyes shut against the dizziness. "Jowan," she groaned, "I think I may be sick."

Wordlessly he passed her a metal bowl. She held it tightly in her lap, breathing deeply for several moments. Gradually, as she became accustomed to actually having a body again, the overwhelming urge to vomit faded into a vague queasiness. "I'm all right, Jowan," she tried to assure him. "I think, anyway." Experimentally, she stood. "Yes, I think I can manage to keep my stomach where it belongs," she confirmed after a moment. "I must go. The First Enchanter wants to see me, apparently."

"You can't go in your small clothes," Jowan pointed out, conspicuously keeping his eyes on her face. "You have some clean apprentice robes in your footlocker; Owain brought them while you were recovering."

Guen conceded his point, and dressed in the plain clothes of a mage apprentice. She wondered idly if this would be the last time she wore them. "How do I look? Presentable?"

"Better than that, as always," Jowan answered with a distracted smile. "There is something different about you, you know," he added. "You seem—I don't know—taller."

Guen allowed herself to smile. "Well, I can't keep the First Enchanter waiting. I'll be back soon, I hope."

"When you've finished, will you meet me in the chapel?" Jowan asked unexpectedly. "I'd like a chance to talk to you. In private."

She frowned in concern. "Of course, Jowan," she replied. "Anything for you, you know that."

She had barely left the room when she heard her name called. In her distracted sate, she hadn't even noticed Cullen standing outside. He was rushing to catch up with her; she could hear the cumbersome Templar armor clank hurriedly. She smiled more broadly than she had for Jowan, perhaps allowing herself to feel the smallest bit of excitement and relief. "Cullen, did you hear? I've passed my Harrowing!"

He did not return her smile, though he seemed relieved to see her. "I am glad." Silence stretched awkwardly between them. "It was going to be my job to do it," he blurted. "To—to make sure you didn't—didn't—"

"Become an abomination?" Guen finished for him. No wonder he'd looked so unhappy in the Harrowing chamber. "Well, I didn't," she pointed out with forced cheer. "So nothing to worry about, and no harm done, right?"

"Right," he agreed after a moment. "No hard feelings, no harm." A tiny smile crept its way across his mouth. "I'm glad you're all right. You've been a good friend. I shouldn't keep you. I know the First Enchanter is waiting for you."

Guen smiled back and waved farewell as she hurried to Irving's study.

Cullen sighed and relaxed his death grip on his sword hilt. She need never know how close he had come to cutting her down. Bitterness and the pressures of their separate callings would come later, he knew. For now, he would be grateful that their friendship had lasted as long as it had.

Irving's study was on the second floor of the Circle Tower. Guen knocked and politely waited for the First Enchanter to invite her in. The guest Jowan had mentioned was with him; he looked to be the same age as Knight-Commander Greagoir, but far less blustery. Dark hair, threaded with gray, was pulled back from a weathered face; piercing green eyes seemed to take in everything at once. But his smile was warm and genuine as he regarded her.

"Step forward, child," Irving commanded gently. He was holding out a set of blue mage's robes, trimmed in gold, and a staff. "Congratulations, and welcome. You are hereby inducted into the Circle of Magi as a full mage."

Guen smiled nervously as she accepted the gifts. "Thank you, First Enchanter," she said softly. "It has been, and shall continue to be, an honor." She turned to Irving's guest, her curiosity evident.

"Guenhibhar, I would like you to meet Duncan, of the Grey Wardens," Irving introduced him. "Guenhibhar here has just completed her Harrowing, and performed impressively.

Guen's interest had piqued considerably at the mention of the Grey Wardens. "I'm honored to make your acquaintance," she told Duncan. "I've come across the Grey Warden tales once or twice in my studies. They're renowned as great warriors, and during a Blight, it is only they who can defeat an archdemon"

Duncan laughed softly. "Those legends are prone to exaggeration," he deflected. "Though not entirely without merit, if they serve to help future generations avoid the mistakes of the past."

"Duncan is here to recruit new potential Wardens," Irving explained. "I was telling him of your performance during the Harrowing—"

"About my Harrowing, First Enchanter," Guen interrupted as boldly as she dared. "I had some questions. A few issues yet trouble me."

"I will take my leave, then," Duncan offered. "I am no mage, and such secrets are best left to mages alone."

Irving glanced at the new mage's face. She was indeed troubled, troubled enough to interrupt his praise of her. But resolute, also. "Guenhibhar, would you show Duncan to the guest chambers? I will be more than happy to answer your questions when you return."

Guen swallowed a curt, instinctive protest and nodded her acquiescence. "Yes, of course. If you would follow me, ser?" she said to Duncan.

They walked in companionable silence to the guest quarters. Guen instructed to pick according to his preference, and perhaps he'd like to join the mages and apprentices for dinner in the Great Hall.

"Perhaps," Duncan said thoughtfully. "Guenhibhar, you know I am here recruiting for the Grey Wardens. Would you consider joining our order?" he asked.

Guen stared at him, taken aback. "Me, ser?" she managed to squeak out. "I am honored, but I fear you overestimate me. I have only just completed my final test—surely one of the more senior mages would be a better recruit?"

"Age does not always grant us the experience a Grey Warden needs," Duncan answered with an indulgent smile. "You must know Irving has spoken of you. Apparently, you performed extraordinarily well during your Harrowing."

"I have my own doubts about that, ser," Guen confessed. "I would be honored to join the Grey Wardens, but until I've had some questions answered, I fear I cannot in good conscience accept a place."

Duncan nodded his understanding. "I shall see you at dinner, then. Thank you for being my guide. It has been some years since I visited the Tower—I'd forgotten how easy it is to get lost."

Guen dipped her head in a bow and hurried back to Irving's study. "First Enchanter," she exclaimed without waiting for permission to speak, "I thought that Pride Demon at the end was about to possess me! I thought I was becoming an abomination! What happened? All I remember is Mouse turning into a demon, and then feeling myself just…fade away." Guen paced the floor in agitation. "I'm obviously quite glad to be alive, and not an abomination, or a puddle of goo on the chamber floor, but…" She faltered. "It frightened me," she finished lamely.

"Then you have learned your lesson better than almost any apprentice I've had the pleasure of mentoring. The sensation you described as 'fading away' was your spirit leaving the Fade, to return to your body," Irving explained calmly. "I'm extremely proud of you for seeing through the demon's façade. I promise you, you were in no danger of being possessed. You were a gifted apprentice, and you will make an excellent mage. Perhaps even a Grey Warden, if you so chose."

"I'm not sure the Knight-Commander would agree with you," Guen replied glumly. "Would I even be allowed to leave the Tower, should Duncan recruit me?"

"You are a mage, not a Templar," Irving said firmly, a hint of steel creeping into his voice, "and anyway, the Grey Wardens are not subject to the Chantry in the same way we mages are. You are my charge, not Greagoir's."

Guen wasn't quite sure it worked that way, not when the Templars held mages' lives in their clumsy hands every time a mage entered the Fade, but she didn't argue. She was grateful Irving had taken the time to lay her lingering anxieties to rest, and made to take her leave.

"One more thing, Guenhibhar," Irving added. "You are forbidden to discuss your Harrowing with anyone who has not yet passed their own."

Guen knew he meant Jowan, and her other friends among the apprentices. "Yes, First Enchanter." She hoped Jowan hadn't asked her to meet him in the chapel so he could ask her about the Harrowing.

She made her way slowly to the Tower's chapel, trying to think of ways to answer Jowan's questions without revealing too much of anything, if that was indeed his purpose. By the time she reached the chapel, she had prepared several glib comments that would hopefully satisfy his curiosity without really telling him anything.

"_There _you are!" Jowan exclaimed as she entered. "I was about to come looking for you. Listen, we're friends, right?"

"Since we were children," Guen answered easily.

"And friends—they do things for each other, right?"

"Yes, they do. Where are you going with this?"

"Well, see—"

Guen noticed that she and Jowan were not quite alone. A pretty, young woman in Chantry robes stepped from the shadows behind Jowan. Guen thought she recognized her—the dark hair and heart-shaped face looked vaguely familiar. Guen could feel all her dry, witty answers crumbling like old mortar—Jowan wasn't asking any of the questions she'd prepared them for.

Jowan took the girl's hand. "Guen, this is Lily. We've—I've—well, we're in love. Now, before you say anything I know it's against the rules—"

"No," Guen interrupted incredulously, "taking a dozen extra tarts to our rooms to eat later was 'against the rules.' This—" she gesticulated in the general direction of Jowan's and Lily's clasped hands—"this is forbidden!"

"Guen, please," Jowan begged, "hear me out—I—we need your help escaping the Tower."

Stunned into silence, Guen could only stare at the secret couple. "You—you're planning on leaving the Tower?" she repeated in a small voice. She would rather he ask questions about the Harrowing all day than this…madness. "Why?"

"Guen, I've been an apprentice for two years longer than you have—they're never going to let me take the Harrowing. They…I just found out they're planning to make me a Tranquil!" he cried desperately. "Lily told me. I'll lose everything—my connection to the Fade, my magic—and worst of all, I'll be cut off from my emotions! I'll lose my love for Lily!"

"Maybe you wouldn't be in this mess if you hadn't been spending so much time trying to find out just what she wears under those robes, instead of concentrating on your studies," Guen snapped angrily.

Jowan's face clouded. "I love her," he said in a low, earnest voice. "That means more to me than becoming a mage."

Guen had no answer to Jowan's naked, honest admission. The two friends stared at each other, connected by a decade and a half of friendship, separated by forces Guen had trouble understanding. "What about your phylactery?" Guen asked. "Even if you could leave the Tower, the Templars would just hunt you down and drag you back."

"They can't if it's been destroyed," Jowan pointed out with uncharacteristic slyness. "The phylacteries are kept in the depository. If we can get in, we can destroy my phylactery."

Lily, silent until now, murmured, "Please, Guenhibhar—you must help. Jowan is not the only one making a sacrifice. I leave the Chantry to be with him."

For the second time in as many minutes, Guen was left speechless. "I need to think," she finally said. "I won't reveal you. But I need to think." With that, she fled, impatiently brushing away tears as she wondered what sort of love was worth giving up all you knew you could be.


	3. Spiders and Spinning Webs

**Spiders and Spinning Webs**

Guen had no clear idea of _where _she was going; only that she needed to be _away._ She found herself at the entrance to the Tower storerooms, staring fitfully at the array of potions on the table.

"If you're not here for something specific, get out," snapped the mage on the other side of the table.

Guen looked up. Senior Enchanter Leorah was standing there, looking unusually peeved. Guen was not in a mood to be tolerant, however. "I'm sorry," she said coldly, "did you wake up on the wrong side of the summoning font?"

Leorah relented. "I'm sorry, I'm just so distracted. You're Guenhibhar, aren't you? You've just completed your Harrowing. I've just been named a senior enchanter, and there's—well, no matter, I'm sure you have other things to be worrying about."

Guen shifted her feet guiltily. "I'm not really doing anything at the moment," she lied. "What's on your mind?"

"Oh, it's nothing really, I just…" Leorah sighed. "I'm just having a problem in the storeroom. Embarrassing, really—I should be able to take care of it myself. I'm a senior enchanter, for heaven's sake! But there are just so many, I don't know what to do!"

"So many what?" Guen asked, curious now.

"Sp-spiders! In the storeroom!" Leorah shuddered.

"I can go in and clear them out for you," Guen volunteered instantly. "I need the target practice." _And I need something to take my mind off this problem __**I'm **__having, _she added silently.

Leorah stared disbelievingly. "You'd do that? Oh thank you!" She pressed the storeroom key into Guen's hand without further preamble, and rushed out of the room.

Guen sighed and pushed open the door to the storeroom. It was quiet inside. There were no spiders lurking in the immediate area around the entrance, but the thick strands of their webs clung to the rough-hewn walls. They were here, and judging by the size of the webs, they were at least ten times larger than the average garden spider. Guen kept her staff at the read; the need to stay alert was a welcome distraction from Jowan's…lunacy.

A quiet clicking of fangs was her only warning before two giant spiders rushed at her from a dark crevasse. They were the size of hounds; they were the sort of spiders that gave small children nightmares. Guen wouldn't have been surprised if they _ate _small children. She didn't hesitate. She called forth her bolts of energy, knocking the spiders back. That only seemed to annoy them. Guen could almost take pleasure in unleashing some of her more powerful spells in the face of the spiders' instinctive rush. It certainly gave her an outlet for her frustration. Fire, ice, and lightning erupted from the end of her new mage's staff. Abstractedly, she noticed her spells were stronger than they had been in the Fade. Or maybe spiders were just easier to kill. Guen disposed of the carcasses as she went—a short burst of fire from her staff took care of them. Little by little she cleared the storeroom of spiders, before turning her attention to the cocoons. Those were also easily dispatched with fire. After a thorough double-check through the cavernous chamber, she deemed her task completed and returned to the entrance.

Leorah was waiting for her. "Are they gone?" she queried anxiously. At Guen's nod, she remarked, "That was fast!" She accepted the storeroom key Guen handed back. "Oh, I do owe you a favor. I have a lot of work to catch up on. Thank you again, and please, if you ever need anything, look for me first."

Guen smiled, assured the senior enchanter it was no trouble, and left. A knot began to twist in the pit of her stomach. She had to tell Irving about Jowan and Lily. Tensions were high enough between the magi and their Chantry caretakers. If this were discovered, whatever happened, the Templars would blame Jowan for leading an innocent Chantry initiate like Lily down a dangerous path. Every mage in the tower would be affected, not just Jowan. Telling Irving was the right thing to do, for everyone.

At least, that's what Guen told herself as she hurried back to Irving's study. "First Enchanter, I have something to tell you."

Irving straightened at her urgency. "What has happened?" he asked in a grave tone.

The story tumbled out in confused pieces; Guen had trouble keeping them in order. Irving seemed to follow easily enough.

"—and they're planning to destroy his phylactery," Guen finished, nearly in tears. She'd rather go through her Harrowing a second time.

Irving seemed to consider all she had said for several moments, his brown eyes sharp. "You have done the right thing, Guenhibhar," he assured her. "Here is what we shall do. Help Jowan reach the phylactery chamber. Allow him to break his phylactery, should he reach it. I will inform Greagoir of the situation, as one of the players technically falls under his jurisdiction."

"First, Enchanter, is Jowan truly going to be subjected to the Rite of Tranquility?" Guen wanted to know before she left to carry out her mission.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Irving replied heavily. "He was not half as gifted as you to begin with, and with this taken into account…No. Jowan will never be a mage. And…disturbing rumors have reached my ears. Rumors of blood magic."

"You can't think Jowan would stoop so low," Guen dared to argue, "no matter how badly he wants to be a mage."

"We will see. Go find out how they plan to get into the phylactery chamber, he instructed again. "Help them to do it. Greagoir and I will be ready."


	4. Blood and Betrayal

**Blood and Betrayal**

Guen felt sick. She felt her head nodding, felt her feet carry her back to the chapel where Jowan and Lily were anxiously waiting. "All right, I'll help." Her voice came out of her mouth, sounding sincere, determined. Like someone who would defy Chantry law to help her best friend find freedom. "What's the plan?"

Jowan's relieved, boyish smile shone from behind the stubble of a beard on his face. "The depository has several doors that need a special key," he explained, "a key that only Greagoir and Irving have. But if we had a way to get past the locks, we wouldn't need the key. A rod of fire might do."

"Mages are the only ones who have the proper authority to request items from the stockroom," Guen mused, thinking aloud.

"And you're a mage now," Jowan pointed out delightedly. "We can't go with you—it would look suspicious. We'll wait here."

"Oh, don't trouble yourselves," Guen shot back with heavy sarcasm as she hurried out.

She found the stockroom on the third floor, Tranquil Owain standing nearby. "Owain!" she called. "What do I need to take something from stockroom?"

"A release form, signed by a senior enchanter," Owain replied in a flat, dreamy tone. "What do you need?"

"A rod of fire," Guen answered conversationally as she took a release form from a stack on the stockroom table. "Thank you. May I ask you something else?"

"Anything. I will answer as best as I can."

"Is it terrible, being Tranquil? Going through the Rite of Tranquility?"

A flicker of thought passed across Owain's placid face. "I was afraid of failing my Harrowing," he answered in the same calm tone. "They cut my magic from me. Now, I am no longer afraid. I can keep the stockroom in better order. I like being Tranquil."

He didn't ask why she wanted to know; Guen supposed Tranquils didn't ask too many questions. She murmured her thanks and took her release form. She had a favor to collect.

Leorah was still in the storeroom, putting things in order after the spider infestation. "Guenhibhar!" she cried happily. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I was hoping to cash in that favor, actually," Guen answered honestly. "Would you sign this?"

Leorah briefly perused the form. "A rod of fire, hm? Beginning research already?"

Guen's social smile suddenly felt too tight on her face. "Yes," she lied. "I can't wait to get started."

Leorah signed the form with no further questions and returned it to Guen's hand. Owain glanced at the signed form when she turned it in, and handed her the requested rod of fire, also with no further questions. Guen tucked it into the belt on her robe and hurried back to the chapel. "I have it," she said before Jowan could ask. "Let's not waste time, shall we?"

The first entrance into the basement was no trouble; all it needed was a Chantry password and the touch of mana. Blue torchlight flickered along the walls of the hallway leading to a second door. Statues and suits of armor were placed at regular intervals; Guen supposed they were there to look imposing.

They stood at the second door, the entrance to the phylactery chamber. "Use the rod, Guen" Jowan urged. "We're so close!" He placed his palm on the door, displacing the sleeve of his robe.

Ugly-looking cuts and scratches crisscrossed his hand and arm. "Jowan, how did those happen?" Guen asked with real concern, sick feeling of guilt forgotten for a moment.

Jowan dropped his arm and pulled the sleeve of his robe back down. "It-it's nothing," he stammered. "J-Just clumsy, I guess."

Guen frowned, unconvinced, and worried. "Well, would you move so I don't melt you too?" she said brusquely. She pointed the rod at the door and spoke the command word.

A robust jet of flame burst from the end of the rod. The searing, white-hot heat singed Guen's hand. It didn't seem to be having much of an effect on the door, however; she deactivated the rod and stared in bewilderment at the unscathed barrier.

"It—it didn't work!" Jowan shouted, close to panic.

"Really, I hadn't noticed," Guen snapped. "We'll have to find another way in. There's a door down this hallway. Perhaps we—"

Guen was cut off by the sight of at least three of the statues in the corridor springing into action. Reflexively, Guen cast her freezing spell—rapidly becoming her favorite. Lightning and fire quickly followed. Everything blurred together; soon Guen couldn't make the distinction between instinct and training. It seemed as though one moment, they were fighting for their lives, and the next, the three statues lay inert once more—singed, frozen, and in several pieces.

"Why didn't the rod work?" Jowan fretted. "And what were those things that attacked us?"

"Probably guardians of some sort," Lily surmised as they traveled down the corridor to try the door Guen had pointed out. It was locked, but the rod of fire was able to destroy it with no difficulty. "The Chantry doesn't trust mages. It makes sense that they would make certain the mages couldn't use magic to get to their own phylacteries."

Guen wordlessly led the way through the depository. When Jowan asked why she was so quiet, she claimed it was so she could concentrate on staying alert, in case more of the statuary attacked them. It was as good an excuse as any, she supposed. In truth, she was deeply troubled, and not only because she was betraying her oldest friend to both the Circle of Magi and the Templars. She didn't believe for a second that Jowan had gotten those cuts and scratches by accident, but neither was she willing to believe he'd do something as dangerous, and deliberate, as dabble in blood magic. But still—what if she was wrong? He'd managed to keep Lily a secret from her; what other secrets might he be hiding?

They entered a large room full of clutter. Forgotten texts, broken furniture, discarded staves—all lay willy-nilly on the floor, or on rickety bookshelves, in no particular pattern.

"Where do they find all this?"Jowan wondered aloud, urgency temporarily forgotten.

"The mages have been in the Tower for a long time," Lily replied. "This has all probably accumulated over several generations."

Guen lightly ran her hand over the feminine features of a statue, forgotten in a corner for who knows how long. It made her inexplicably sad to think of so much knowledge collecting dust in what amounted to a glorified junk room. Maybe she'd catalogue it, as a project, when this was over.

"That statue looks like Tevinter work," Lily remarked with interest, joining Guen in the corner. "There's no inscription telling us who this woman is."

"Who comes?" sighed a feminine, ephemeral voice.

Guen dropped her hand in surprise and it drifted uncertainly toward her staff. "What are you?" she asked. The statue didn't seem to be moving, but one could never be certain.

"I am the Prohpetess Eleni Zinovia," it replied. "I was turned to stone for foretelling the fall of my consort's house."

"That's terrible," Guen murmured.

"It's talking rubbish," Jowan insisted impatiently. "Don't listen to it. No good ever came of talking to statues."

Guen ignored him. "Would you—do you need anything?" she asked, feeling absurd for doing so.

She could have sworn the statue of Eleni Zinovia smiled. "No, child. Do not be sad for me. I knew my fate when I dared tell Archon Valerius his house would fall. I shall endure thus, eternal and unfeeling, 'til the Maker returns to light their fires again."

Guen reluctantly turned away from Eleni's stone visage. There was something oddly comforting in the stoic dignity with which she had accepted her condition.

"Guen, over here," Jowan called. "I can feel a draft over here, behind this bookcase. Do you think we could move it?"

Together they managed to shift the case, revealing a severely weakened section of wall. "I think I can use the rod of fire on this," Guen ventured.

The wall crumbled almost instantly under the heat of the rod. Beyond was the phylactery chamber.

Hundreds of glass vials lined the walls. In contrast to the previous chamber, this room had been meticulously organized. Each vial had a handwritten label with the name of the apprentice or mage it belonged to. Guen noted several familiar names.

"They're catalogued by the year they were collected," Lily said informatively. "So Jowan's would be somewhere…here!"

She pulled a vial from its place, indistinguishable from any other in the room except for the name scrawled on the label: _Jowan Rigser._

Guen felt her heart sink into her toes. Irving had instructed her to let Jowan destroy his phylactery. In a daze she watched him raise his arm, and dash the vial against the stone floor. Jowan didn't seem to know what to do next. "I'm free," he whispered, sounding stunned. "After all that, I'm free."

Guen tried to smile convincingly. The cuts and scratches on Jowan's arm were showing again. "Congratulations," she managed to say past the thick, clogged feeling in her throat. "Lily, would you give us a minute? I'd like to say goodbye before you two get too far in your happy ending." The words came so easily, sounded so sincere. She hated herself. She pulled Jowan into a tight embrace. "Don't do anything stupid, okay?" she choked out.

"I won't," he promised, returning her embrace and missing her meaning entirely."I'll never forget you, Guen. Thank you."

She followed the lovers out of the phylactery chamber and into the fresh air above, wondering if it was normal to feel as though she was walking to the gallows.

"I can scarcely credit it, Irving, but you were right." Knight-Commander Greagoir was waiting for them, with First Enchanter Irving, a half-dozen Templars, and, strangely, Duncan, the Grey Warden.

Jowan and Lily froze in shock. Guen stepped slowly out from behind them. She was uncertain where to stand. Did she stand beside them? Or did she cross the chamber to stand beside the Templars and the First Enchanter? The craven voice inside her head urged her to run back to the depository and hide until the unpleasantness was over.

"And this one!" Greagoir ranted. "Only just made a mage, and already she disregards the rules that hold everything together!"

"She was acting on my orders, Greagoir," Irving interjected with quiet authority. "I take full responsibility for her actions."

"What?" Jowan whirled to stare at Guen. "You—you _planned_ this? You turned me in? I thought you were my friend!"

Fury and hurt smoldered in his gaze; Guen tried not to blink. She had no answer or excuse for him, in any case. Not anymore.

"Templars," Greagoir barked. "This initiate has scorned the Chantry and her vows. Take her to Aeonar, the mage's prison. As for this apostate," he continued, turning a fierce glower on Jowan, "he will be punished as all apostates are punished: with death. Take them."

With a final accusatory glare at Guen, Jowan stepped protectively in front of Lily, slowly backing up as the Templars advanced.

_Don't do anything stupid, _Guen mentally pleaded.

"No! I won't let you take her!" Jowan shouted. Faster than anyone could have anticipated, he pulled a dagger from his sleeve and sliced into the palm of his hand.

At least the cuts and scratches could be explained now, Guen thought, before a wave of energy crashed against her and the Templars, knocking most of them unconscious. Guen tried to get her staff out in time, but was knocked down by a second wave. Her head cracked painfully against the stone floor. In a daze she saw Jowan hold his bloodied hand out to a horrified Lily—heard Lily shouting at him to leave, leave monster—saw Jowan, broken, turn and flee. Part of her was glad to see him escape the harsh punishment reserved for apostates—and blood mages. But mostly, she was angry, and her head hurt.

"Easy," a familiar voice said from somewhere above her. Strong hands gently lifted her into a sitting position. Guen blinked and peered shortsightedly into Duncan's face. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm not seriously hurt," she answered, mostly truthfully. Besides a cracked head and bruised ego, she supposed she was fine. "What of the others?"

"Blood magic is a powerful thing. Greagoir and Irving recovered quickly, but the others will take some time. No injuries besides yours."

"It's just a bump," Guen retorted impatiently. "I've gotten worse falling down the stairs."

A smile twitched at the corners of Duncan's lips. "If you insist, then."

Guen crawled to Irving's side and assisted him to his feet. "I am sorry, First Enchanter," she whispered bitterly. "I was wrong about Jowan."

"Hush, child," Irving answered dismissively. "He will be found."

Greagoir had already risen and captured an unresisting Lily. She would go to Aeonar, to serve penance for daring to love a blood mage.

"And what of this one?" Greagoir snapped. "You can't deny she played a part in all this."

"She played the part I asked her to play," Irving answered firmly. "She helped to unmask a blood mage, and you have Lily in custody."

"She was down in the phylactery chamber," Greagoir pointed out, glowering. "Who's to say she didn't…help herself?"

Guen felt anger surge through her, hot and instant. "The only phylactery missing is Jowan's," she insisted with cold finality. "Check if you like. I know how Templars love to look for enemies in shadows."

A warning glance from Irving curbed Guen's impulsive tongue before she went any further. Anger would not serve anyone well.

"Greagoir," Duncan interrupted, "would you consider allowing young Guenhibhar to leave the Tower? She is one of the most promising talents I've yet seen. The Grey Wardens would be honored to count her among their ranks."

Greagoir scowled, an instant refusal coming to his lips.

"Come, Greagoir, you have her phylactery," Irving persuaded. "Should she prove unsuitable for the Grey Wardens, where could she hide?"

Duncan added his assurances that he would take responsibility for her outside the Tower.

Guen looked to Greagoir, hardly daring to hope. Leave the Tower, leave everything behind—it seemed too good a chance to dream for.

Greagoir exhaled loudly. "Mages outside of the Tower, Maker help us. All right, take her and go. I'll send her with you as part of the force bound for Ostagar."

Duncan nodded his thanks and smiled encouragingly at Guen. "We'll leave as soon as you're ready," he told her.

On shaking legs Guen half-ran, half-walked back to her old room in the apprentice dormitory. She didn't have much; just some extra clothes, her staff, and her books. All of these fit into a good sided pack. She met Duncan in the entrance chamber. Other mages milled about, bustling to prepare for the journey. "We don't really have to wait for them, do we?" she asked. "I mean, I know you're anxious to get underway. And I'm always glad for the company of other mages. But I would like to know more the Grey wardens."

Duncan chuckled. "And so you shall," he assured her. "The roads are yet clear. I think we may travel a little ahead of the group in safety."

"You'll find we can travel quite fast when needed," remarked n older mage. Wynne, Guen remembered. She taught among the younger apprentices, and had been for as long as anyone could remember. "Here, Guen, a tent for you. Growing girls need their privacy."

Guen accepted the role of canvas gratefully. She'd always liked Wynne. "Thank you. We'll see each other in Ostagar, I'm sure."

Wynne chuckled. "Off you go, young lady. Good luck." She squeezed Guen's shoulder in farewell.

Guen blinked rapidly until the urge to cry like a child had dissipated. "Goodbye," she whispered to the room full of people. Her people. "Well, ser Duncan—"

"Just Duncan will do, Guenhibhar," he corrected.

"All right, Just Duncan, and you can call me Guen. All my friends do. Let's get started!" She strode through the front doors and onto the dock jutting out into Lake Calenhad.

A small boat was waiting for them. The Templar ferryman regarded them with mingled suspicion and interest. Guen supposed she'd be getting a lot of those types of looks outside the Tower. They didn't matter, she told herself fiercely. Let the wide world judge her. She knew herself.

They set up camp that night. Guen set up her tend a little apart from Duncan's to ensure she'd be allowed some measure of privacy. Only when all was quiet did she allow herself to mourn all she had lost.

The world would judge her as it wished. She knew what she was, she told herself again.

Mage. Maker willing, Grey Warden.

Betrayer.


End file.
